Translator: Lonelytree Editor: Millman97
Su Zhinian, who was cleaning up the sofa, suddenly stopped. With his back toward her, the arms that gripped the comforter tightened greatly.
The room was exceptionally quiet, so much so that he thought he had imagined that sentence. After maintaining his posture for some time, he recovered to smooth out the comforter.
Even though Song Qingchun didn’t have any intention in mind other than the hope that Su Zhinian could have a more comfortable sleep in the bed, after she said what she said, her heart still started to race.
She stared at his immobile back for a while before adding,
Su Zhinian, don’t sleep on the sofa, use the bed instead. You still need to drive in the morning. You’ll get a better rest in bed.
Even though he was facing away from her, her face still burned.
Near the end, Song Qingchun felt her face was on fire. Her voice slowly petered out, and she glanced at Su Zhinian, who had become a statue. She balled her palms into fists and bit her bottom lip, as if coming to a decision. She moved forward wordlessly to pull the comforter and pillow away from Su Zhinian’s hands and took them into the bedroom without looking at Su Zhinian even as she brushed past him.
Song Qingchun tossed Su Zhinian’s comforter and pillow on the other side of the bed before squirming into her own comforter. She curled up inside the comforter like a snail before tapping her burning face lightly and found the ability to breathe, an ability that was taken away again when Song Qingchun heard the bedroom door being pushed open.
Through the layer of fabric, Song Qingchun could sense Su Zhinian’s gaze on her. She curled even deeper into the comforter, not unlike an entombed mummy.
Su Zhinian stood at the door for a while before closing it lightly behind him as he stepped into the room. Following his approach, Song Qingchun’s body froze up even further; she felt the blood inside her body had even stopped pumping.
She could hear the rustling sound of fabric as Su Zhinian moved the comforter about. The last minute felt like a century to Song Qingchun. Then, the bedroom became so very quiet, her sweaty hands grabbed the cloth of the bed underneath her. After some time, she felt motion from the man in the room, and before Song Qingchun realized what was happening, she felt the other side of the bed sink.
Song Qingchun shivered involuntarily, and she screw her eyes shut.
In the silence of the room, Song Qingchun could hear the Su Zhinian’s light breathing and her own beating heart. The man’s unique scent filtered through the fabric and into her nostrils.
It was a comfortable scent, like the smell of spring water. It helped to relax Song Qingchun’s strung up nerves. As drowsiness came, her breathing slowly calmed down, and she fell asleep.
Su Zhinian, who had been lying quietly beside her, slowly sat up and gently removed part of the comforter that was wrapping up her head.
